FROGMORE POETRY PRIZE 2013
Frances Corkey Thompson
WHEN THE BEES
Ignoring garden-lore, I let weeds
breed, for how they billow, their bombshell grace.
And when the bees
lug their lulling impossibilities
from sneezeweed to honeywort to bold
unlabelled bells that blow also
in Chernobyl, in Fukushima, then I start to know,
in this walled elbow-room, how things might hold
given the touch-and-go.
to Adjudicators Report